


Nothing So Certain As Your Anchors

by Thistlerose



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-16
Updated: 2010-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On an away mission, Uhura is the only one to witness McCoy's abduction by smugglers. She has only a few seconds to decide whether to run for help or try to save him herself. (Prompt: AOS. Uhura is physically protective of McCoy, and he likes it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing So Certain As Your Anchors

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to igrockspock for beta reading this story.

There were two of them, a man and a woman, and they had McCoy at gunpoint. Uhura assumed they were human. The man had his back to her, but the woman was standing in profile, and from her vantage point behind the boulder some meters from where the three of them were standing, Uhura could discern no features that would have marked them as alien.

Nor could she determine their identity from their outfits; they bore no insignia, no indications of rank or affiliation. Their clothes – leather jackets, leather boots, gray pants – were utilitarian, and fairly nondescript. The man was balding; the woman wore her ink-black hair coiled in intricate braids. And yet, their phaser rifles looked like Starfleet-issue, at least from where she was crouched.

Smugglers, then?

It wasn't important at the moment. What mattered was the fact that McCoy was crouched with his hands behind his head.

Uhura thought while her heart beat rapidly. If they'd wanted to kill him, he'd be dead. Which meant they probably wanted him for something. What? Information? The stripes on his cuffs gave away his rank. Or maybe they wanted a hostage. She chewed on her lower lip.

What were her options? She had a communicator in her utility belt. She could contact Scotty and have him beam the two of them to safety.

She dismissed the idea. Dematerialization took time. Precious seconds. And they had to realize that if he made it to the ship, the first thing he'd do would be to give away their exact location.

She could call for backup. The rest of the away team could not be that far away. They were as lightly armed as Uhura, but the smugglers might yield to superior numbers. Phaser in one hand, Uhura flipped open her communicator and tapped out an emergency code.

A phaser beam struck the boulder barely a meter above her head. Dust and jagged fragments pelted her unprotected head and the back of her neck. Dropping the communicator and ducking low, she fired back.

Another beam hit the ground not far from her feet, charring a patch of the spongy blue-green bryophyte that grew in clumps all over this woodsy terrain. Could they see her? Or were they just firing aimlessly in what they thought was her direction? She decided to chance it.

"You're surrounded!" she shouted, modulating her tone to exude a confidence she in no way felt. "Drop your weapons and let him go."

"You drop your weapon, sweetheart," the woman replied. "No one has to get hurt here, but if you don't come out of there with your hands in the air, someone _will._ The way I see it, a doctor needs his hands and his eyes. Your friend here could lose a few things, and still be useful to us."

There was a thud and a grunt.

_McCoy._

Uhura rose slowly. The man had McCoy pinned to the ground, a knee pressed into the small of his back. He'd shouldered his phaser rifle; now his fingers gripped a hunting knife, the blade flush with McCoy's cheek.

"Don't." Her throat tightened around the word.

The knife hardly seemed to move. But McCoy's shoulders twisted, he gave a small, strangled sound, and suddenly there was blood from his chin to his cheekbone.

She swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the phaser. Her palms were slick with sweat. _Be calm, Nyota_, she instructed herself. _Think._ If she fired at Balding, Braids would shoot her. If she fired at _Braids_, she doubted she'd have time to get off another shot.

She decided to twitch tactics. "What exactly do you want?" she demanded.

"For you to be a good girl and throw down your weapon," Braids said. "You come down here unarmed, and no more blood gets spilled. I think that's what we all want. I could always use another bargaining chip."

"Is that all you want? A couple of hostages?"

"We have a job for your doctor friend."

"Someone's been hurt?"

"No," Braids said dryly, "we feel like _playing_ doctor. What the hell do you think?"

"You want him to patch up your guy," Uhura said. "And after that? You plan on letting him go?"

"Eventually. Maybe. It depends."

"On what?"

"Number of things, including whether or not you drop your fucking weapon and get your ass down here."

The agitation in her voice was impossible to miss. Time was a concern; their wounded friend must be in bad shape.

"Where is he?" Uhura asked. "This friend of yours who's been hurt?"

But the woman was anxious, not stupid. "Oh no," she said, and a corner of her thin mouth lifted in something like a smile. "Got your communicator on, sweetheart? Someone listening in? Want more proof that we're not fucking around here?"

Balding's knife moved again. This time McCoy shouted in pain as a slash appeared across his forehead, slanting from the bridge of his nose to his hairline. "Lieutenant," he barked, "let me handle this. We're wasting time. Get out of here. That's an order." His lips twisted in a grimace; his eyes were squeezed tight – with pain or determination, Uhura could not tell.

"It's not an option, though," said Braids.

_Even if it were,_ she thought stubbornly, _I'm not leaving you._ Addressing Braids, she said, "This is what's going to happen. I'll go down there, but I'm keeping my phaser. You'll take us to where your friend is. Doctor McCoy will do what he can. After that, you're letting both of us go."

"Am I?" amusement rippled in the dry tone.

"Yes," she said firmly. "And if you hurt him again…" She wished she could have thought of a plausible threat at that moment. But she doubted there was anything she could have said that Braids might have believed. She'd called Uhura's initial bluff; she was fairly shrewd.

"Vayne," Braids said casually to her partner, "hurt him again."

"Don't!" The word snapped out of her before she could think, and before Vayne had time to cut McCoy a third time. "Don't." She tossed her phaser aside and raised her hands in surrender.

"Good girl," Braids said. "Now, walk toward me."

Her glance flicking between Braids's heard eyes and the knifepoint that gleamed against McCoy's chin, Uhura began to move forward. The ground, she knew, was uneven, but she couldn't look down to make sure she didn't trip over any half-buried stones or clumps of bryophyte.

"Faster," snapped Braids.

"For fuck's sake, Sitrin," Vayne began, but Braids – Sitrin? – silenced him with a hiss.

"Sitrin," Uhura said, trying the name out. "Who are you people? What are you doing here?"

"No questions," Sitrin said. "All right, honey, that's close enough. Vayne—" She hitched a shoulder at her partner. "Pick him up, and let's go. Keep your weapons on him, though. If either of them try anything—"

"You have my word as a Starfleet officer—" Uhura began.

Sitrin spat.

Vayne climbed off McCoy and, grabbing him by the back of his collar, hauled him roughly to his feet. "My medkit," McCoy said.

"Vayne," said Sitrin.

"One false move," Vayne began, waggling the knife at McCoy.

"We're cooperating!" McCoy's voice crackled with exasperation. "But, damn it, if you want me to save your friend, I need my medkit."

"Get it, then."

While Uhura watched, McCoy bent to retrieve his medkit, which lay some feet away. As he did, he casually brushed his fingers across his bleeding cheek. Wiping them on a clump of bryophyte, he rose, hoisting the kit's strap to his shoulder. Vayne grabbed him by the arm and held him. Both he and Sitrin seemed to have missed his surreptitious action.

_Good man,_ Uhura thought. The phaser-burned boulder – her dropped communicator – her phaser – the bloodstained clump… They were leaving a trail for Kirk.

Uhura hoped he found it soon.

*

They moved quickly. Vayne kept his grip on McCoy and held the hunting knife level with his ribs. Occasionally, he pressed the blade against the blue uniform shirt, as if he thought McCoy needed to be reminded of his leverage. Uhura walked behind them, hands curled impotently at her side. Sitrin took up the rear.

Where she could, Uhura left signs of her passage for Kirk and the others: a bootprint in the loamy earth, a crushed plant. She regretted losing her communicator. For a little while, she'd entertained the possibility that McCoy had held onto his, and that Spock, who'd been left with the conn, could use the _Enterprise_'s sensors to locate them. But the more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that Sitrin or Vayne had confiscated and destroyed McCoy's communicator when they'd ambushed him; it would have been the smart thing to do, and Sitrin at least seemed far from stupid. Moreover, _Enterprise_ sensors hadn't picked up Sitrin or Vayne's life signs when they'd scanned the planet earlier. Which probably meant that they had some sort of masking or sensor-scrambling device. Such things existed, Uhura knew, and could be obtained – for quite a lot of gold-pressed latinum – on the black market.

Who _were_ these people?

Their destination was a cave situated about halfway up a steep hill. A mound of boulders hid the entrance so well that Uhura was certain she would have walked right past it had she been exploring on her own.

The first thing she noticed when she entered was the sound of harsh, labored breathing. Once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she took a quick glance around. The cave was large, or seemed so in the beams of the flashlights set up around the wounded man … who lay on the ground amid a pile of rags. His face was contorted with pain, making his features difficult to discern. Despite the cave's cool, damp air, his face glistened with sweat. He had a foul odor as well, one Uhura had first become acquainted with in a badly run prison facility on a backwater planet in the Orimet system, one she recognized as an indication of an infected wound.

McCoy crouched beside him, set the medkit down, and opened it. Vayne stood a few feet behind McCoy, fiddling with his knife. The blade flashed, but McCoy seemed unconcerned by the threat. Or maybe he'd forgotten about it. He seemed wholly focused on the injured man and the readout from his medical tricorder.

"Well?" Vayne said after a minute or two. "Are you gonna patch him up? What're you waiting for?"

"These injuries," McCoy said as if to himself, "could've been caused by a fall … or a crash. A shuttle crash. Is that what happened? Is that why you're here, instead of halfway to a station with a decent infirmary? How long ago did this happen?"

"Answer my question," Vayne said bullishly.

"No," snapped McCoy, "you answer mine. These injuries require surgery. This wound is badly infected. How long has this man lain like this? And why the _hell_ didn't you signal for help? Our ship has been in this system for days. If you'd brought him to me two days ago - _one_ day ago…" While he spoke, McCoy's hands moved quickly. He set the tricorder down and removed a hypospray and two vials of liquid from the medkit. Loading up the hypospray, he said, "I need water. _Clean_ water. Tell me you have some. I need at least two liters, preferably more."

"There's water," Sitrin said. "Don't know how clean it is."

"Get it quickly."

"Vayne," said Sitrin.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he began.

McCoy glanced up at him. "Do it," he said in a tone so authoritative, it sent shivers up Uhura's arms. "_Now._ And take this." He took a foil-wrapped packet out of the medkit and tossed it to Vayne, who barely caught it. "Drop two of those sterilizers into the water. It takes five minutes to purify two liters. Hurry."

He turned away dismissively, and for a moment Vayne just stood there, the knife in one hand, the packet of sterilizers in the other. He seemed torn between carrying out McCoy's orders and a desire to cut his throat.

"Vayne, just do it," Sitrin said. "They're not going anywhere."

"Fine." He spat at the back of McCoy's neck, but the doctor's only reaction was a small shudder and a shake of his head.

"Fine company," he remarked to Uhura after Vayne had left.

"Hey," Sitrin said. "You may be Starfleet. That doesn't make you better than us."

"Not in and of itself," McCoy retorted, "but I don't fly with anyone who'd let a man suffer like this, just for—"

Sitrin crossed the cave floor in three quick strides and stuck the muzzle of her phaser rifle between McCoy's eyes. Uhura stiffened. "Don't—" Her throat was suddenly so dry that the word rasped across her lips, barely a whisper.

"Shut up." Sitrin's command was frosty, and directed at both of them. "You," she said, poking McCoy's cut cheek with her rifle, making him wince, "do your job. And you," she added to Uhura, "keep quiet, and don't move."

Uhura licked her lips and swallowed, moistening her throat. "Get away from him."

"Or what? What can you possibly do to me before I blast his head off?"

"You do that, and your friend doesn't have a chance."

Sitrin cast a dispassionate glance at the man on the ground. "He's not exactly my friend." But she lowered her weapon from McCoy's face and moved to take Vayne's place behind him.

"Whoever he is," said McCoy, sounding shaken for the first time, "he _is_ going to need surgery. I'm going to give him something for the pain. When Vayne comes back I can clean the wounds. But the osteogenic stimulator in this kit is for minor breaks and fractures. We need to get this man to the _Enterprise._ Let me take him there. _Please._"

Sitrin appeared to hesitate, but only briefly. "Do what you can with what you have."

"When he dies," McCoy grated, "it will be your fault."

"But I'll kill you anyway. And you." She flashed Uhura a mean smile. "So," she said conversationally, while McCoy bent over the injured man. "You and the doctor. How long've you been fucking?"

Uhura tensed, but did not answer.

After about a minute, Sitrin shrugged. "Silly me. You're Starfleet. Conduct unbefitting, or whatever the bullshit rule is. Do you wanna fuck him?"

This time McCoy flinched. Uhura caught the tiny movement, and wished that she hadn't seen it.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," Sitrin continued. "Look at his hands. Big. Steady. Do you fantasize about them? Squeezing your little tits. Sliding up under that stupid little skirt. Bet it gets you all wet, just thinking about it. Bet you're thinking about it right now."

Uhura was glad of the relative darkness because it meant that neither Sitrin nor McCoy could see her blush. She was half-right, Uhura thought. She'd never fantasized about Leonard McCoy – not that way. She liked him. A lot. But as a friend and fellow officer. Of course, she couldn't help thinking about it now; Sitrin had put the image in her head and she couldn't shake it. It had been a long time – nearly a year – since she and Spock had decided they could work more efficiently if they stopped being intimate. And in all the long months since, no one had touched her in the manner Sitrin described.

"Got quite a mouth on him too," Sitrin continued. "Quite a tongue. I wonder what else it's good for. It's too bad you won't ever find out. I wonder what he thinks of you."

_We're friends,_ Uhura thought, watching McCoy. _Just friends, that's all._ The idea that they could ever have been more was ridiculous. He didn't flirt with her, not even teasingly, the way Kirk did. Despite the fact that they served on the same ship, they had very little in common. To be sure, he had his Southern charm, but on the whole, his manners were blunt. He was argumentative, passionate almost to the point of being dogmatic. Whereas she was cool, deliberate. She did not share readily what was on her mind or in her heart. Gaila called her the Ice Princess—

She shook herself. Now was _not_ the time for introspection. Later, when she and McCoy were safe—

He glanced up at her then. Their eyes met, and something struck her heart.

_I'm not losing you._

McCoy arched his eyebrows, then rolled his eyes at the entrance to the cave. He picked up the hypo, twiddled it between his fingers. Mouthed one word.

She got it. Unfortunately, Sitrin got it at the same time. Her face contorted with rage. "Oh, _fuck_ you," she snarled. She pointed her phaser at Uhura and fired.

But McCoy threw himself backward, crashing into her, knocking her off her feet. Her phaser beam went wild. It missed Uhura cleanly, striking the curved cavern wall a good three meters above her head. There was a tremendous cracking sound. Then rocks began to fall. Uhura leaped out of the way.

McCoy and Sitrin were grappling. He'd dropped his hypo, and was trying to wrest the phaser from her hands. She kicked at him, tried to butt him with the phaser. She would twist out of his grasp at any second, Uhura knew. McCoy wasn't weak, but Sitrin had none of his scruples.

She kept firing, despite the fact that McCoy was making it impossible for her to aim, and the beams gouged holes in the cave ceiling. Within seconds, the air was full of dust and falling rocks. Blinded, choking, Uhura stumbled forward. She grabbed one of the flashlights and swung it hard at what she hoped with all her heart was Sitrin's head.

McCoy shouted in pain and dropped to the ground.

_Damn!_

But that was all the chagrin for which she had time. Sitrin gave McCoy's ribs a vicious kick – and thus missed her chance to dodge Uhura's next swing. With a dull _thunk_, the flashlight connected with Sitrin's temple. Screaming in pain and frustration, she fired one last shot. Uhura felt the air above her head sizzle.

The cave shuddered. Knocked backward, Uhura tripped over McCoy, who moaned faintly.

Rolling to her knees, she seized him by the front of his shirt and tried to haul him up, but he was too heavy. Frantically, she looked around for Sitrin, but there was no sign of her. The cave heaved again, and Uhura threw herself on top of McCoy, wrapping her arms protectively around his head. Holding him against her, she pressed her cheek to his. It was sticky with blood.

_I'm not losing you._

That was her last thought before darkness and silence claimed her.

*

"I can't believe she got away!"

To her annoyance, Kirk seemed amused by her vehemence. "Why can't you believe it? Anyway," he went on while she glared, "she won't get far. Even if she can block our sensors somehow, there's nowhere for her to go. We found the wreckage of her shuttle. We have Vayne. We'll find her."

Uhura had her doubts, but she decided to keep them to herself. She was tired. According to Nurse Chapel, who'd been by her bedside when she'd awakened in the med bay, she'd suffered a concussion when the cave collapsed, plus minor fractures, bruises and lacerations, and she'd inhaled a good deal of dust. She was fine now, just … tired. Lying back in the bio-bed, she closed her eyes.

"Where's Doctor McCoy?"

"You know, that's the third time you've asked me that since I came to see you. I told you, he's going to be fine. He's resting. Like you."

"Does he know the man in the cave died?"

"Yes."

"Is he upset?"

"Yes."

More to herself than to Kirk, she murmured, "He really wanted to save him."

"Yeah," Kirk said. She felt the air stir slightly as he leaned closer to her. "Lieutenant?"

She opened her eyes a slit. "Yes, Captain?"

The sudden warmth of his hand jolted her. "Cap—" She started instinctively to pull her hand away, but he held it.

"Shh. You're going to receive an official commendation, Lieutenant. But I wanted to thank you – personally." He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher. "Thank you for keeping an eye on him. And for leaving a trail we could follow. Without it, we might not have known where to start looking for you."

"But I surrendered," she said, wishing he'd let go of her hand, wishing she had the energy to look away from his candid blue eyes.

"You didn't leave him alone with them. And you could have. You could have turned and run at the first sign of danger. He's the first real friend I ever had. Thank you for keeping him safe."

"I hit him with a flashlight."

"I wish I could have seen it. Nyota, I mean it. Thank you."

She should have been bothered by his free use of her first name. But she wasn't. Slowly, she replied, "I don't regret anything. But I don't deserve a commendation. Sitrin got away. Her companion died. I didn't find out what she was up to, why she was even—"

He pressed her hand. "We'll find out from Vayne. And we'll find her. Trust me. Sleep now."

He released her hand. A moment passed and she thought he'd gone, even though she hadn't heard the curtain around her bed move. But then he said quietly, "He's a good man, you know. Bones. He's a very good man."

It seemed an odd thing to say. She started to frown. Then she said, "Captain, do you know something that I don't?"

She heard him laugh softly. It was strangely soothing – and nettling at the same time. "Lieutenant, I don't think there's _anything_ I know that you don't."

*

She went to see him two days later. She found him alone in his office in the med bay, doing paperwork at his desk. He looked up when she entered, but he didn't speak until the door had slid shut behind her.

Then it was just, "Lieutenant, how are you feeling?" in a calm, professional tone.

"Fine. Though I'd feel a lot better if we could find Sitrin. It bothers me that we can't. It makes me wonder what sort of resources she has, and what she's really up to." She paused, not sure how to continue. He'd set his PADD down and was looking at her curiously. Finally she said, "I'm sorry your patient died. He might have been more cooperative than Vayne. And – I'm just sorry he died."

"I can't save everyone. But, damn it, if they'd just let me take him to the _Enterprise_…" Now he sounded tired.

She looked at him more closely. Though they'd been deep, the cuts on his face were almost completely healed, and would not leave scars; she could still see the thin, pale lines, but those would fade. The corners of his lips were turned downward. Uncomfortably, she remembered what Sitrin had said about his mouth. Then she remembered the way he'd flinched when Sitrin asked if she wanted to fuck him.

She also remembered the look in his eyes right before he threw himself at Sitrin, and the way her heart had stuttered.

Looking at him now, her heart stuttered again.

She started to walk toward him. When his shoulders stiffened, she said gently, "I'm not armed." That coaxed his lips into a half-smile, which warmed her. She kept walking until she was standing so close that he had to look up to see her face. His eyes, she knew, were green-flecked in certain lights; just now they were the color of strong tea. She raised one hand and touched his cheek.

He inhaled sharply and his lashes flicked downward. "Thank you," he said in a roughly formal tone. "For coming after me."

She nodded, aware that he couldn't see it, and kept stroking his face. With delicate fingertips, she traced the fading lines of his knife wounds. She brushed the soft brown hair away from his brow and stroked the horizontal creases. Crooking her fingers, she ghosted her knuckles over his wide cheekbones, down to his lips. As she traced them, she felt his harsh, hot breath on her skin.

"Nyota."

She stopped.

The dark lashes lifted, revealing eyes wide with pain, uncertainty, and hope. It was going to be strange, she thought, being with a man as open with his emotions as Leonard McCoy. Though he wasn't incapable of keeping secrets; she wondered how long he'd harbored these feelings for her. Kirk knew. Did Spock? If she hadn't nearly lost him, would she still not know?

"Leonard," she said, half in exasperation, half in love.

He put his hands on her hips. Big, steady hands. Surging out of the chair, he clasped her to him, mashing his mouth against hers in a kiss that took her breath away. She didn't care; she liked his urgency, needed it. She let him know by winding her arms around his neck and curling her tongue against his. He moaned into her mouth, and let his hands drift down over the swell of her buttocks, cupping, then squeezing. That was good, but it wasn't enough and his height was going to make their position uncomfortable very soon, so she batted his hands away, hoisted herself onto his desk, and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.

His hands were on her again only seconds later: cupping her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples through her uniform – which was suddenly too tight, too confining. She reached around for the zipper.

"Computer," he said gruffly, watching as she peeled the uniform away from her body, "lock the damn door. And set window opacity to 100%." He seemed transfixed by the sight of her, but he came back to life when she grabbed the hem of his shirt and started to push it up.

He helped her, and when the shirt was off she ran her hands over his bare chest, loving the smoothness of him, the heat of his skin. The sparse trail of hair below his navel intrigued her; she wanted to map every inch of him, and that seemed a fine place to start. To her surprise, he shook his head and took a step away from her.

She was confused for a moment, but then he cupped her knees, started to nudge her thighs apart, and she understood. A shudder of anticipation rippled through her. "Oh, God," she whispered.

He hooked his hands under her knees, gave her a slight tug toward him. She leaned back on her elbows, spreading her legs wider.

He stroked her thighs. "Tell me if it's too much."

"It's wonderful. Please." Anticipation curled in her belly, and at the first flick of his tongue against her skin, she dropped her head back and moaned. Was his office soundproof? It was a fleeting concern, one she dismissed as he licked his way up to the elastic hemline of her panties. She whimpered when she felt his fingers on her, tracing her cleft through soaked cotton. His touch was so gentle, it was maddening. She needed more, so she tried to get her legs around him again, to reel him closer.

"Relax, honey. I'll get you there. Lie back. Let me see you touch yourself."

There was authority in his voice. It was a different sort from what he'd used in the cave, but she found herself obeying. She pushed herself up so she could unhook her bra, then slid the straps over her shoulders. She shivered as the lace fell away from her sensitized skin.

"Let me see," he said.

She lay back, and shivered again at the smooth coolness of his desk. Her nipples were painfully hard, but she pinched them, flicked her nails against them, wishing she could see his face. While she did that, he tugged off her boots and pulled her panties down.

"So fucking beautiful."

At the first broad swipe of his tongue, she bit back a scream. At the second, she let go of her breasts and reached for the edges of the desk. She needed something to hold, and she didn't trust herself not to yank too hard on his hair.

He lapped at her, fluttering his tongue against her labia, teasing her clit with the tip. How long he kept this up, she had no idea. She was lost in pleasure and had almost no conception of what she was doing or saying. She must have let go of the desk at some point, because there were her fingers, tangled in his damp hair. And she must have started bucking because there were his hands, holding her thighs down firmly.

When her first orgasm rolled through her, she had to close her eyes because the stars that caught in her lashes were too bright. Tossing against the desk, getting tangled in her own hair, she was dimly aware of him kissing his way up her body, of the slide of his sweat-slick skin against hers.

"So fucking beautiful," he said again. He kissed her cheek. Then he kissed the corner of her mouth and she tasted herself on him.

She felt the press of his erection, realized he still had his pants on. That was wrong. He needed to be naked too, so he could be inside her. She reached between them, fumbling for the button and clasp that held his pants closed. As she worked, she felt his stomach muscles clench. He groaned when she got him out of his pants and underwear, latched his mouth to the pulse at her throat and sucked hard while she ran her fingers up and down the heavy length of him.

"I want you," she whispered, starting to guide him to her. "Leonard – please."

Slick and loose as she was, her body stretched to accommodate him as he entered her. His first thrusts were slow, shallow. He was trying to be careful, she realized. He was afraid of hurting her. The absurdity of his concern almost made her laugh – after all they'd been through, he was afraid that _he_ would hurt her? – but she stopped herself. "Harder," she begged.

His next thrust made her cry out and dig her nails into his back. After that, he found a hard, fast rhythm, and she clenched around him, clung to him to avoid being pushed over the desk. In the one narrow corner of her brain still capable of coherent thought, it occurred to her that he was finally releasing all the tension and anxiety that must have been tightening inside him since his abduction. She didn't know how she knew, but she was certain.

And then suddenly he was coming, pulsing inside her while the rest of his body shuddered, then stilled. Her second orgasm hit her at almost the same time. She sobbed his name as all her nerves flared with an almost painful intensity. Fortunately, she had him to cling to: an anchor, or her center of gravity, gradually drawing her back to herself.

*

"You realize we're trapped," she said, some while later, as they lay on his desk, her head on his chest, his fingers combing slowly through her hair.

He rumbled in understanding. "Soon as we walk out of here, they'll know what we've been up to."

"We could stay here," she said. "They'll find us when they need us."

"Didn't leave them a trail this time. Still," he went on thoughtfully, "they're a smart bunch. Sometimes." He yawned, curled over her, and brushed his lips against her forehead. "Meantime, I think we'll be all right, just you and me, darlin."

Smiling, she kissed him back. "I think so too," she said.

6/8/10


End file.
